Pure Cotton
by Danaeyl Panthernopaeus
Summary: With death around the corner, some questions need answering. Oneshot.


**~Pure Cotton~**

**Author:**

Danaeyl Panthernopaeus.

**Theme:**

Alternate Universe.

**Storyline:**

When faced with death, he remembers "why" and figures out "why not".

Told from first person point of view.

**Warnings:**

Language, violence, death, implied homosexuality, OOC (out of character notions).

**Disclaimer:**

The characters of Final Fantasy VII _are not_ mine. This story is by a fan for fans and is non-profit in anyway.

~ * ~

For the last fourteen years, I have not been able to remember anything about my life. Now as I wait for the final blow, everything comes into focus. Maybe I would have been better off as a preacher, like my father. Yeah, right.

A man who could not even remember his own name is going to tell the world about the 'Savior'.

That isn't the life for me and I know it.

I could never being myself to believe the whole 'life flashing before your eyes when you know you're going to die' thing. Naturally, I assume my life would begin when I was taken in by a slave master; whipped into shape and trained how to kill another man.

I used to curse that man. Now that I think about it, if it wasn't for him, I probably wouldn't have gotten as far as I have. At age thirty-two, I am still a warrior.

My owner would never see it that way. To him, we're all trained monkeys. He says 'Jump' we ask 'how high?' Seriously, my owner, you do not want to be on the wrong side with him. He would just as quickly kill you as look at you.

His name is Rufus. To me, he will always been Contestant Number Six Hundred and Forty-Four. An odd number, right?

Actually, that number explains half of my name. That and my odd colored hair. I think I scare most people when they see me in the streets. Maybe not as much as the man above me. I have seen few people with silver hair around these parts. Or eyes that seemed to glow.

The man above me, his name is Sephiroth. A legend, his name is almost a whisper amongst other fighters. You would think he was something of a god. In actual fact, the reason his name is spoken in that manner, is because we regard him as the man that rides the pale horse. No-one he has ever gone against has won.

When I first saw him, my 'Babe Alert' went off. It is pretty much the same for anyone I meet. Trust me, I am no slut. Like I would give anyone a full service for free. Prostitution was never my thing. I actually feel something that resembles pity when I see a prostitute. How crappy does your life have to be for you to go that low?

That may seem off point, but it is sort of relevant to my current situation. How crappy does your life have to be to become a paid warrior? It is almost like prostitution, just without the mind blowing sex. Maybe not.

Oh, yeah, Reno gets some.

Reno, my name for the last eighteen years of my life. I began to explain that, didn't I? Well, here is the full explanation. It's not very long. Reno – 're' because of my hair color red; 'no' because I was rejected by six hundred and forty-three owners. Viola, Reno. It's a fitting name, I think.

Contestant Six Hundred and Forty-Four, as you know, took me on and gave me a number. I am Warrior Number Two in his little group. He was also the jackass that gave me two symmetrical tattoos along my cheekbones. Sure, they're hot, but I didn't want them. Now that I _really_ think about it, I don't much like the idea of being owned.

I can vaguely make out the crowd chanting, "Iuguolo him." Thanks for the support, guys.

I now realize how all the people I have killed must have felt when they heard those words coming from the stands. It is a reminder of your pending doom.

Especially for Baby Face.

It must have been so rough for that kid. Don't get me wrong, I'm no sap, but I do have something that could be classed as "sentimentality". I don't like to let it roam very much, not in this job. Actually, not in any job where I have to deal with other people. I guess you could say that I am anti-social. People are stupid, anyway.

I'm not the type of person you would describe as a "gentle soul". But I'm not a natural born killer like the man above me. This is the first time I've seen such lovely green eyes that show nothing but hate and spite.

Of course, I've never seen Sephiroth outside of the ring, and I never will.

Since I stepped onto the sand, I knew I wouldn't be the one to leave this hole. I knew I would be leaving in an oak box, figuratively speaking. Contestant Six Hundred and Forty-Four at least gives his "warriors" a decent burial.

Sephiroth raises his sword – an odd weapon.

While most have standard bronze swords, Sephiroth has this monstrosity. The blade is nearly as tall as him. He swings it with such precision and has no scars on his body. Though, it's not the first odd weapon I've seen in the ring. Even I have an odd weapon.

A two and a half foot long cylindrical piece of metal.

Not to toot my own horn, but I have a strange ability. I like to call it "Pyramid". With it, I'm able to create a barrier of sorts that immobilizes my opponent. Of course, it didn't work on Sephiroth. One swing of his huge sword and my pyramid is gone. Yeah, that was a harsh pill to swallow.

The pressure on my chest suddenly lifts and I look up into those bizarre glowing eyes in question.

Sephiroth backs up a few steps. "Get up and fight!" he barks.

I look for my rod and find it a meter or two away from my hand. I get up and head towards it and for some reason, the first time I met Rude comes to mind.

I smile at the memory. Rude, at first glance, can come across quite weird and a little dangerous. God, the moment I looked at his hidden eyes, I got this unexplainable urge to punch him.

I know, now, it was because of those irritating sunglasses. A device that's not of this time yet it seems so natural to have them around. I'd even heard talk of people finding ruins that still had the writing on the walls in tact. Something called "reactors". To me, for some reason, that word is so familiar.

Contestant Six Hundred and Forty-Four and Rude are the only people I know that have ever left this area of land. I have thought of all the other sights that are out there and have wondered what they would be like. Would they be like this place? What would be the people be like? Would they be as pushy as they are here? A thousand and one questions I want answers to. A thousand and one questions that will remain unanswered.

My life, thus far, is like a wheel.

Same movements. So predictable. Very boring. I wake up in the morning, have breakfast, train, have lunch, train some more, have dinner, have a bath, go to sleep just to repeat it the next day. On occasion, I like to mix up the routine a little and have a spot of sex.

I pick up my rod.

Rude is the quiet one out of the two of us. He appears to always be thinking about something. Something that requires his full attention. It hurts a little to be ignored. I can understand it from the one that owns us, but not by a person that is in the same situation as me. Sure, we may have nothing in common.

Yeah, that's it. We have nothing in common. Nothing to talk about. If we were to do that, I'm sure it would just come out strained. I would never say this out loud, but Rude is kind of like my sanity in an insane world. Or is he my insanity in a sane world? Either way, he keeps me grounded and makes sure I don't do anything stupid.

Until this day, I still don't know how Rude ended up in this business. To me, he seems like the kind of man that only fights when there is no other option. I guess that's where we differ. I like to fight. I can't help myself, really. If there is nothing to do, I will just start talking and I'm sure to say something that will eventually offend someone and – bam! – fists are flying.

Even when Rude and I are doing Contestant Six Hundred and Forty-Four's shopping.

I don't quite understand the whole bartering thing. So, instead, I tell them to give it to me at a lower price. When they say no, I threaten them. I have made a lot of enemies that way. Most of which I'm sure at here now, waiting for me to die. I don't blame them.

I'm a prick.

And worse yet, I can admit that I'm a prick and be proud about it. I've got to be one of the worst out in the wide world. I'm the kind of prick that degrades servants. After all, I'm fulfilling my purpose by killing people. What are they doing? Sure, they serve us food if we're too lazy to get up and get it ourselves. Other than that, what else do they do?

Hm, maybe I shouldn't be so rough on those guys. It would explain why my bed covers have been smelling of urine of the last two years.

That's just stupid, I think.

Servants wouldn't do that. They are servants because they can't hold grudges against someone. Otherwise, they wouldn't be in that kind of industry. If they were able to hold a grudge and make good on the results, they would be running this world.

I face Sephiroth and he smirks.

I have never really been this indecisive in my life. I made the leap into backstreet gambling. I made the leap into organized assassinations. I made the leap into kidnapping. I made the final fucking leap by becoming a gladiator.

As a thirteen year old punk, I was one of the best. I could break someone's legs if they didn't make the correct repayments. I would make requisitions for certain people to give up their first born as collateral. I was the master at everything I did back then. Damn, that was nineteen years ago. Eighteen years since I've been a legal killer.

A legal killer. Those words make me smirk. I remember the first time I heard those words.

Thanks to some little punk ass blond by the name of Cloud, or as I refer to him, Baby Face. Baby Face Cloud. The boy who tried to be a man. The boy who tried to be the next Sephiroth. The boy who never became a man.

Why did you become a legal killer, he asked me.

Why? I gave him the only answer I knew. An answer that would make people feel sorry for me; it never lasted long, though. The only people that had ever heard that answer died a short time later.

It's all I've ever known, I told him.

Sure enough, he had looked at me like I was some pathetic pup with a broken leg. Like I was limping around and just needed a little love and care and time and I would be the happy puppy that everyone thought I should be.

It's not that I don't like people thinking that about me. Okay, that's a lie. I hate it when people pity me. When they think that just because I grew up on the streets they think I don't know what life could have been like. I have news for them; I know exactly what the other life could have been like for me.

Yeah, I could picture it almost every night that I wasn't having sex. Little Reno getting dressed up for school, going to that educational hell, being picked on by the other students, coming home to Mother and Father, telling them what a great day it was and how nice everyone is; feeding them the same shit for the next year until I finally snap and punch someone.

Oh, what a wonderful family that would have been. My parents would have disowned me.

It could go in the opposite direction and I could just be working a plantation with my parents and selling our goods at the markets. Only to be picked on by the little snot nosed twats whose parents have more money than sense until, again, I snap and beat the snot out of their noses. I would probably never see the light of day again.

One way or the other, I would have ended up on the streets or I would have been murdered.

I asked Cloud why he had become a legal killer. I still have no idea why I asked him that. It appeared that I cared about him. That I cared about why he threw his life away just to take one.

To become the next Sephiroth, he told me.

Yep, even he half whispered Sephiroth's name. I could understand. To this pup, Sephiroth was a god. Someone to admire and idolize and aspire to. It gave him a reason to wake up in the mornings. It gave him a reason to not think of killing himself in the middle of the night.

What a baby face, I said to him. At the age of nineteen, you shouldn't be killing men. You should be trying to leave your mark in the world. Trying to make sure your legacy lives on.

He looked at me like I was insane.

Maybe at that point in time I was. After all, who was I to be sprouting that kind of junk to someone I'd just met? I knew he knew what I was thinking. I am in the same profession as him. Why didn't I try to make my legacy live on?

Sephiroth stabs his sword into the sand as I continue to stare at him. I have no hope in hell of defeating him. Before I can even blink he is in my face and lands three consecutive punches to my face and jumps back. I spit out blood.

As the warm liquid runs down my chin, I know why I don't want my legacy to live on. I wouldn't have been a good father.

My mark is the same as yours, Baby Face told me, and this is our legacy.

Is our legacy to be remembered as gladiators? I ask myself now. To be known as the boy killed by Reno who was later killed by the legendary Sephiroth?

Sephiroth.

Even in my mind it is half whispered. I had thought I'd be the only one who wouldn't fall victim to the greatness that is the man before me. I had thought I would be the only one who would always stand apart from the crowd. The only one who would see Sephiroth as another opponent.

Baby Face had been the first one to attack. I dodged it easily. I blocked another attack with my rod. He blocked one of mine with his unnecessarily huge sword. How someone so pathetic looking was able to wield that kind of a weapon was only known to God.

What's your name, kid? I asked him as we watched each other. I remember the crowd had been particularly agitated that day for some reason.

Cloud, he responded.

Cloud, I repeated, I will always remember this fight.

He smiled at me, like it was the best thing anyone could have said to him. Like the advice I had handed out before was worth dog shit compared to that.

Sephiroth has now forgotten about using his weapon and is landing blow after blow to my face and torso with his fists. He kicks me and knocks me off my feet.

I fly about a meter before I hit the hot and coarse sand. I stand and wipe the blood away from my mouth with the back of my hand. I have yet to return anything that Sephiroth has dealt out. Right now, I don't feel up to do anything. I know he is only toying with me, trying to draw it out longer to please the crowds.

Sephiroth, I half whisper in my head, you are really something.

Why Sephiroth? I had asked Baby Face after we'd spent a few minutes of being attacked and blocking the other's attack.

He is a legend. So many like me have left home to train and become as well known as he is. To be a living prodigy. To be without remorse. To be undefeated. To reach our full potential.

The way he said that and the look on his young face, it almost made me want to call it a draw. But I didn't want to deal with the crowd after the match. An angry mob is never something one wants to deal with.

It was him or me, however. And no matter how much he wanted to become the next Sephiroth, this world wasn't even big enough for the real Sephiroth. Cloud had to die.

I look at the crowd. In the owner's box I can see Contestant Six Hundred and Forty-Four. By the look on his face, he knows what I already knew. I would not be the one leaving this sand pit. I chuckle in his direction.

Enjoy the show, jackass. I'll make sure it meets your expectations of performance. I see Rude stand beside the blond and I shake my head – bad idea as I fall to one knee.

While Rude and I rarely speak to each other, our very first conversation was something almost sacred to me.

It was a day, just like today. The sun was high in the sky, hot. Contestant Six Hundred and Forty-Four had sent us out to buy stuff at the markets. We knew what we had to get, but we always took our time.

We wandered around for at least twenty minutes. We looked at all the fresh produce. Fish so fresh it was still flipping about on the stalls. We picked up fruit and vegetable and put it back. Most of it looked really nice. We only had enough to get what we needed to get, though, which sucked.

We were looking at a different fruit stall when Rude turned to me. I tried to ignore him. I could feel his hidden eyes as they stared at me. I sighed and looked at him.

What? I demanded.

How did they get you?

I blinked. Well, that was unexpected. Since when did Rude give a damn about someone else's past? What they were had nothing to do with what they are now. In my case, I guess it was different. What I was is the very reason I am what I am.

I pointed to an alley where six people were gathered, talking in hushed voices. I was found in those of groups. I guess you could say I was their fall guy.

Rude nodded. Seems odd that your past and future are connected so much.

Okay, this was getting creepy. Sure, when Rude speaks what he has to say has great value to it, but when it comes to me, he's almost like everyone else, tries to change the subject as quickly and as inconspicuously as possible.

I shrugged. That's life, I guess.

To be honest, I couldn't care less if aliens were the reason why I was a gladiator. Shit happens and there was no point in bitching and moaning about it. I guess that's the kind of person I really am. I take everything as it comes.

I guess it is possible that we can change our future, but looking at Sephiroth, I wonder why I haven't thought of doing that. I don't have much time to think of it. As Baby Face said, this is my legacy. This is my mark in history.

If I had the power to change anything about my life, would I? No.

I have nothing that I need to change, I decide as I get to my feet. Everything is perfect and will remain perfect, even when I depart from this world. To me, it will be that way.

I can't bring myself to believe that my death will affect anyone. Rude might mourn for a little time. Contestant Six Hundred and Forty-Four really wouldn't give a damn. He was just that kind of man. One loss is nothing. He could still depend on Rude to not get killed by the living legend.

I charge at Sephiroth, the same I charged at Cloud. My rod over my left shoulder. The only difference between now and then, Sephiroth jumps out of the way as I go in for the attack. I was sort of expecting it, but it still comes as a shock. The man is scary fast.

My rod connected with Baby Face's right cheek, a red mark appearing. He falls to his knees. I am not a gentle hitter.

I watched as his eyes went in and out of focus. He was dazed for moments that seemed like hours. I remembered getting impatient with him. I kicked him, the top of my foot connecting with his left cheek, he hit the floor.

I straddled his waist and landed one punch after the other on his face. His adorable baby face. It wasn't something that I'd normally do. Cloud was just a special case. There was something about him that angered me but made me kind of serene.

I stood from his body. His blood on my hands, splattered across my face and my torso. The crowd was cheering. For the first time in twelve years, I had to question myself. Why was I being a puppet for these top knobs? Why was death such a sport? Why was me beating the living fuck out of some kid so entertaining?

I crouched down and looked him over. I asked him, why pick "Cloud"?

He gurgled up blood and pointed to the sky. I looked up and for the life of me I couldn't understand what he was trying to tell me.

I leant closer and turned my head. He muttered into my ear and I looked up again. I had no idea if what he told me was right. I had never been up there and I couldn't see myself being one of the selected few that would ever get to see heaven.

Why "Reno"? Baby Face asked.

I smirked. That's a story that I could only explain in hell, I said.

I watched him try to laugh and I couldn't believe that in a death match I had made a friend. It seemed a little ironic. I knew he was clinging to life. I also knew there was so much more he wanted to tell me. He seemed to trust me, like I was his only friend at that time.

I wonder now, as I watch Sephiroth land behind his sword and grasp it by the handle, I wonder if Cloud had lived and I died, would he have made more friends? Would he always be the friendly Baby Face?

I have no idea.

The only certainty I have of is that Cloud had the potential to become the next Sephiroth if I hadn't of destroyed him. If I hadn't of beaten him to death with my hands. I can't believe that I had watched him choke on his blood. Sometimes I make myself sick.

If I had the power to change anything about my life, would I? No.

Sephiroth charges at me, swinging his sword around. I dodge every attack and manage to get my knee to make contact with his ribs. He has a look of shock on his face as do I. I never thought that any of my attacks would touch him.

I kick his weapon out of his hand and go to smack him around a little with my rod. I get one in and go for another.

I get two in and go for a third.

I get three in and push my luck for a forth.

I hit Sephiroth four times and stop. How dumb does he think I am? Each and every attack I just gave him were easy to block. He's allowing me to hit him and beat him and hurt him. Maybe I'm the first person who has ever done this? I have no idea.

Well, since he's letting me do it.

I knee him in the ribs again; punch and kick him in the face. I bring my rod down on his collar bone, hearing it snap. I knee him in the ribs again and again and again, just until I'm certain that at least three are cracked. I continue with the beating until I'm exhausted.

Sephiroth is laughing. It sends chills down my spine.

He stands, blooding dripping from his chin and jaw. I know what he was doing. I just didn't want him to leave this hell without some memorable wounds. Soon enough he will be explaining how he got the bruises. That is what made me dying worth while. I was the one who destroyed Sephiroth's beautiful face.

Me, Reno.

I showed the world that Sephiroth is no god. He bleeds, just like the rest of us. He is a lowly piece of waste that was trained, just as we were, to be the ultimate killing machine and to also provide quality entertainment.

Of course, I've destroyed Contestant Six Hundred and Forty-Four's perfectly smug face as well. I still have no regrets over that.

Such a perfect winter morning.

At least it was until I was ripped out of one of very few peaceful slumbers. If I had woken up in my own time, I would have felt well rested. But being dragged out of my warm bed, by my hair, by a jackass was not a good wake up call.

And worse yet, Contestant Six Hundred and Forty-Four was able to see what kind of a dream I was having.

Just to be clear, it was an erotic dream.

At this moment in time, I really can't tell you what it was about. I've had so many about different people, it's kind of ridiculous.

It was that day that we both found out we were nothing but mere numbers to each other.

To that sadistic jackass, I would always be Number Two.

I don't think he has ever said my name.

Contestant Six Hundred and Forty-Four just looked at me. He just let his eyes wander over me, like he had done when he decided he wanted to own me.

I sighed. What? I demanded.

He brought his eyes back to mine. You need to do something for me, he said.

I rolled my eyes. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. He always wants something and all he gives in return is a death match. What a wanker.

Get Rude to do, I said.

I was agitated. I didn't want to do anything for that prick. That's the way it always was. One could say I'm a lazy person and speak the truth, well, half speak the truth. Unless it could benefit me in some way, I didn't go out of my way to do something.

I don't want Rude to do it, Contestant Six Hundred and Forty-Four said. I think you would do a better job of it.

I stared at him. I wasn't going to do what he wanted because he thought I was his trained monkey. That and the fact that he woke up from a good dream. Yeah, I would be about that for years.

I shrugged; I'm not going to do it.

Contestant Six Hundred and Forty-Four narrowed his eyes. He looked very not nice when he does that. He was exceptionally creepy when he smiled. Put politely, Contestant Six Hundred and Forty-Four is a freak.

Seeing as I wasn't going to get anywhere, I had turned to leave I heard his shotgun cock. I tensed up a little.

Great, I thought, he's going to kill me. Then I thought about it, there was no way he would kill me. I may be a pain in the ass, but he would be screwed trying to find another "warrior" like me.

I turned my head to smirk at him when he used the butt of his gun to break my nose. I staggered forward a little, my hands cupped around the broken part of my face, filling with blood. I lowered my hands, watching the blood just drop to the floor.

I turned and glared at the bastard. What the fuck was that for? I demanded.

For not following orders, he replied. Do you want to hit me?

The blood on my face and in my nose began to coagulate. Well, now that he'd asked me, sure, I felt like killing him. All this because I didn't want to do what he wanted.

I want to kill you, I answered honestly.

He smirked, as though that was the answer he was expecting. How dare he look so smug around me! I really should learn to control my temper. It gets me into so much trouble.

I punched him in the nose, breaking it. Doesn't tickle, does it, Contestant Six Hundred and Forty-Four? I inquired as he held his nose.

Rather painful, Number Two. He tenderly touched the bride of his nose.

I have a name, I told him.

Contestant Six Hundred and Forty-For stared at me blankly, like he didn't understand. As do I, Number Two. And it is not "Contestant Six Hundred and Forty-Four" as you so fondly call me.

I punched him again and again and again and again and once more. I hate him. I hate him more than I hate God. And God has been in my bad books since I was nine.

I knocked him to the floor ad straddled his waist. My fists made hard packing sounds as they connected with his face and I suddenly flashed back to Baby Face.

I had to show better restraint than I did back then. But I wanted to keep going. I wanted to beat his face in, the way I had with Cloud.

I wanted so much at that moment in time that I stopped what I was doing and stood. I had played his game long enough. And it was too cold to be out in the open with nothing but a loin cloth on. Oh, yeah, I go Tarzan.

After that, I refused to play any of his games and we continued to refer to the other as the names we gave each other. In the fourteen years I had been with this bunch, I don't think we ever called each other anything but numbers.

If I had the power to change anything about my life, would I? No.

I fall to my knees before a chuckling Sephiroth, out of breath and in pain. My shoulders, arms and hands protest every movement I make. My body and brain scream at each other, both trying to make me listen. I have a choice of rolling over and dying, or I could fight a little further and still die.

I watch as Sephiroth gets to his feet. Despite being covered in blood and swelling, he still looks gorgeous. And all I could think is: that's not fair. What gives him the right to look so beautiful after the thrashing I gave him?

Sephiroth.

Even now it is still half whispered. I still don't know what it takes to see Sephiroth as the mere mortal that he is. Perhaps it takes death. To die by his hand is to see his flaws.

I think back to the beginning of this fight. All the way through, nothing Sephiroth has ever done has been by accident. Every move I make, every move he makes, the area in which we fight. He took everything into account and how he could use it to his advantage. How could anyone beat a master like that?

Sephiroth grips my chin gently with his thumb and forefinger. I glance up at him. He leans down and presses his lips to mine for a moment.

I've never seen the Kiss of Lost Hope preformed on any but, I have heard of it, once on some guy named Genesis. Sephiroth kisses you, then whispers something to you before he kills you.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?" I sigh.

I watch as Sephiroth walks over to his weapon and picks it up. My heart begins beating at a rate I didn't think possible. It beats so hard I feel it at the base of my throat as it closes off, awaiting its doom.

My breathing is so labored that I can hardly hear the words Sephiroth mutters to me. I close my eyes and think about it. I guess he could be right. I'm no philosopher like he is. I don't really have a problem with living on my knees.

I mentally snort at that. Who am I kidding? I _hate_ living on my knees. Being someone's servant, killing just I don't get killed. Hunting so I won't be hunted. Questioning so I won't be questioned. I still have a lot to do in this world, when I think about it.

I guess the main one would be to see the ocean. Thirty-two years of age and not once in my life have I seen the sea or the beach. I've heard that Costa del Sol is really nice. Maybe I should have gone there when Contestant Six Hundred and Forty-Four offered a little vacation for Rude and me.

I guess number two of my top three would have been go and see Baby Face's parents and meet that girl he mentioned. She sounded nice, even if I can't remember her name. And I guess with that there would be the visiting of his grave and talking to him. It was only two years ago that I killed him, but a lot happens in two years.

I wonder, briefly, what heaven and hell are like. Is heaven that place in the sky with all the clouds and fountains that flow with ambrosia? And is hell a flaming dog patch where you're tortured daily? It will be interesting to find out.

And number three would be to have adopted a cat or a dog. For me, it would be nice to give another creature a better shot at life. A little ginger cat would have been perfect – named it Brandy.

As I think about my top three, I take a wild guess at what Cloud's must have been. One – become the next Sephiroth. Two – marry that girl. Three – make the legend live on. I smirk. It would have been fun to make Baby Face blush about sex. Bloody kid.

What be the top three for Sephiroth?

Sephiroth.

Even _now_ I still half whisper it as he swings that giant sword towards my neck, to lop off my head.

I can't help but ask myself: Does Sephiroth have dreams? Is there something he longs for deep down in his heart? Or is total destruction of the earth all he wants? I know that one has to be a rumor. Why would Sephiroth, a man that has a reputation that is equivalent to that of a god, want to rule or destroy the world?

Sephiroth is ambitious, not insane – I think. It might the other way around.

I felt it.

The sword that cut through my neck.

It was hot and quick.

I can feel myself floating upwards.

I open my eyes and look around.

I am surrounded by giant, fluffy clouds. I reach out to touch one, it disappears between and around my hand. Baby Face was right, that bastard.

Clouds may look like pure cotton, but up close they are nothing but air, offering us comfort if we seek it. For a Baby Face, he sprouted a lot of stuff that made no sense at the time. I wonder, as I continue on my way upwards as I play with the clouds, if I can make it into heaven, who else is there? I know Cloud is. Zack will be there, another killed by Sephiroth and many more, I expect.

If I could change anything about my life, would I? Maybe.

~ * ~

End.


End file.
